The Rosie Story
by TheSapphireSky
Summary: A collection of ficlets focused on Rosie Watson. Sherlolly and Warstan to make appearances.
1. The Wedding Waltz

**AN: I just have a lot of feels…**

Twelve o'clock.

It was time.

With a final check in the full-length mirror, she brushed a hand down her front and took a steadying breath. This was it.

Behind her came a knock on the door. She looked over her reflection's shoulder as the ornate wood door opened to reveal her father, dressed in his black morning suit with his gray hair combed back.

She turned around, the skirt of her white dress brushing the floor, and smiled. 'How do I look?'

His eyes filled with tears and his lips thinned as he schooled himself. 'Beautiful. Just like your mother.'

'Really?'

His lips trembled. 'Really.'

Tears filled her own eyes and before she knew it, he'd crossed the room and embraced her. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest. She knew how hard this day was for him, in so many ways.

'I love you so much,' he said, his voice thick with emotion. 'And though I know no man on earth deserves you, he comes close.'

She smiled and closed her eyes, remembering all the days growing up when her father had hugged her. The good days and bad ones, when she was hurting and when he didn't even understand why she was upset, when she had come first in her class and earned a scholarship abroad, and all the days in between.

He had always been her rock. And now he was putting that responsibility onto someone else.

'I love you, too,' she whispered.

They pulled back and smiled through their tears.

'Oh, for God's sake, what did I say about crying before the wedding?' They both turned to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. A headset peeked out from his curls and he was furiously scribbling on his ever-present clipboard with a glower on his face. 'I shall have to send word to delay the ceremony by three minutes to give the makeup artist enough time to fix the damage.'

He glanced up and scrutinized her face before making another note.

'Make that five minutes.'

He spun on his heel and pressed his finger to the mic, demanding to see the makeup artist immediately. His voice faded as he walked away.

Rolling her eyes at her uncle's usual brusque manner, Rosie Watson kissed her father's cheek and stepped back to brush the wrinkles from her gown.

'Well, let's not keep him waiting any longer,' John said gruffly, clearing his throat and putting on his soldier face.

'The groom or the wedding planner?' Rosie teased.

John gave her a knowing glare and she grinned cheekily. A flash of sorrow passed over his face at just how much she was like her mother, both in looks and temperament.

Pushing down the memories, John drew his shoulders back.

He was giving his daughter away in less than twenty minutes.

And he would carry on as a soldier would. Because that was the only way he would get through this.

oOo

Rosie looked around the crowded dance hall. The father-daughter dance was scheduled to be next and she hadn't seen her father in some time.

Uncle Sherlock and Aunt Molly spun by, their waltz form perfect as usual, and noticed her searching gaze. Uncle Sherlock gave her a meaningful stare before flicking his gaze toward the french doors at the far end of the room.

Rosie smiled her thanks. Kissing her husband _(husband!)_ on the cheek, she excused herself and made her way around the edge of the room.

She slipped quietly out onto the patio and shut the doors behind her, blocking out the noise. Standing tall and stoic, her father's back was to her as he stared out into the inky-black night.

'Hi Daddy.'

He turned around and smiled. She could see how he was putting on a brave face for her and it made her heart ache.

'You should be inside with your husband,' he nodded toward the party and smiled wryly. 'Let an old man have some quiet from that ruckus noise you call music.'

Rosie walked toward him and gave him a knowing look. 'I miss her, too.'

He sniffed and looked away.

'I know you think I don't, that I was too young. And you may think I'm imagining it from all the stories everyone has told me about her. But in my heart, I know,' she placed a hand on her chest, 'I remember her. Sometimes it's the smell of perfume, sometimes it's when I'm home. Warm. Safe. That's her. And I want to grab on to that feeling and never let it go. But I can't. It's slipping out of my grasp and I'm falling.'

Her father reached out and wrapped his arms around her. She blinked back tears and rested her chin on his shoulder.

'She would have been so proud of you.' He kissed her temple. A huff of laughter escaped him. 'And she certainly would have scared the life out of your husband.'

Rosie smiled and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

They held each other for just a moment longer before John leaned back. He brushed a stray piece of hair from her forehead and tucked it back into the hairpiece. 'You should probably get back inside.'

Rosie looked over her shoulder at the lights dancing through the frosted door. 'And you. The father-daughter dance is coming up next. But I should warn you, Uncle Sherlock said he nixed both our song choices just this morning.'

He grimaced. 'What did he choose instead?'

Suddenly, the soft strains of violin music drifted across the lawn. They both turned to look for the source. From the far edge of the courtyard, half-illuminated in the dim yellow light of the lamppost, Uncle Sherlock was playing his violin. Just for them.

Rosie smiled and looked back at her father, only to find him crying. 'Dad? What's wrong?'

He looked up, as if to will himself under control, and exhaled. 'It's our waltz. Your mum's and mine. From our wedding.'

Stunned, Rosie's eyes filled with tears. The melody was beautiful and seemed to capture her mother as she'd always imagined. 'We don't have to-'

Her father smiled down at her despite his tears and held out his hand. 'It's perfect.'


	2. Sleeping Beauties

**AN: fluffiness abounds. A Rosie Story (this is becoming a thing lately with me).❤ Set a few years after TLD (not consistent with events from TFP)**

Molly knew she should have offered to babysit Rosie at her own flat. Not Baker Street.

Thus far, the afternoon with her goddaughter had gone swimmingly. They'd played games, then Rosie had insisted on doing Molly's hair, resulting in a very ridiculous and lopsided updo that Molly hadn't the heart to undo. After a snack and a cuddle while watching some telly, it was time for Rosie's nap.

And the feisty three-year-old was an expert negotiator. There were no tears or crying. No, there was no doubt this little girl was the daughter of Mary Morstan.

Which is how Molly found herself laying in Sherlock's bed five minutes later, Rosie smiling smugly as she curled into Molly's side and closed her eyes obediently.

Blushing, Molly tried not to think about Sherlock sleeping in this same bed.

Thank goodness he and John were out on a case, most likely until the morning, and wouldn't find the two of them laying there like Goldilocks trying out the bed.

Even if this one was just perfect.

Soft and supportive. Huge, especially to her petite frame. The sheets were probably a higher thread count than all of hers combined. And the pillows…

They smelled of Sherlock.

Against her will, Molly found herself getting sleepy. She had intended to stay just until Rosie fell asleep and then slip out.

But surrounded by Sherlock's scent, Rosie's warmth pressed against her side, she closed her eyes and fell into oblivion, a smile on her lips.

oOo

Sherlock climbed the stairs quietly. It wouldn't do to wake Rosie from her afternoon nap. She had her father's temper when she was tired.

Passing the landing to his rooms, he peered inside but didn't see a sign of Molly. So he continued up to John's level and opened the door to Rosie's room, expecting to see his goddaughter sleeping away while Molly read in the chair beside the bed.

But it was empty.

A measure of panic caused his heart to begin to race and he hastened back down to the lounge.

No signs of struggle. Molly's bag and coat were hanging over a kitchen chair.

His eyes swept to his bedroom. The door was open.

Frowning, Sherlock walked down the hall and pressed his hand against the door, pushing it open.

Curled up together on his bed, Rosie and Molly had fallen asleep.

He stared at the sight. Instead of the expected feeling of intrusion, a warm contentment swept over him. It felt… right.

Shrugging out of his Belstaff, he let it drop to the floor and carefully lowered himself onto the bed. He slotted himself behind Molly and breathed out a deep sigh, feeling the adrenaline of the case wearing off.

As he breathed in the scent of Molly's shampoo and gentle perfume, he smiled and closed his eyes.

oOo

 **Twenty Minutes Later**

John grumbled as he climbed the stairs to 221B. Once again, Sherlock had run off after solving the case, leaving John to answer Lestrade's questions and then find his own way home.

He would give Sherlock a piece of his mind before relieving Molly and waking Rosie from her afternoon nap.

Finding the lounge and kitchen empty, John strode into Sherlock's bedroom and stopped short.

Sherlock was already deeply asleep, his arm wrapped around Molly Hooper's waist and his face buried in her neck. Molly was also asleep and in her arms was Rosie, who had just woken up and was looking at her godparents with a cheeky smile. She looked up at him and giggled.

Just like her mother.

John tried not to stare at the sight of Sherlock spooning his pathologist and instead quietly rounded the bed and picked Rosie up.

His daughter was beside herself with glee and as soon as he shut the door behind them, she couldn't hold it in any longer. 'Is Auntie Molly gonna marry Uncle Sherlock now? Can I be flower girl! Will you be the bestest man?! Does Auntie Molly get to wear a pretty dress?! Can I get one, too? Will they have babies-'

Overwhelmed, John didn't know the answer to any of those questions and just tried to process it all. But Rosie wasn't paying attention to him anyway and by the time John set her down on the play rug in her bedroom, she had named four of her future Holmes cousins.

oOo

Back in Sherlock's bedroom, the sound of Rosie's eager questions had roused Sherlock from his slumber. He lifted his head and looked down at the still sleeping Molly.

 _Yes,_ he thought with a smile as he laid his head back down and pulled Molly closer. _Rosie will make a wonderful flower girl._


	3. A Father's Mistake

She heard his breathing before she heard his footsteps on the grassy hill. She should have known he would find her.

Not bothering to wipe the tears from her face or hide the angry bitterness in her tone, Rosie bit out, 'Leave me alone.'

She also should have known he would do whatever the hell he wanted to.

John's knees creaked as he sat down beside her. She hugged her legs closer to her body and refused to look at him, instead keeping her eyes locked on the distant lights of London. A chasm of darkness separated them from the bustling city. And right now, an even wider chasm sat between her and her father.

From the corner of her eye, she watched him run a hand through his hair, mussing it up. Not for the first time either. He looked ragged and broken.

'I don't know what to say,' he began, but she cut him off.

'Then don't try,' she snapped. Anger and betrayal bubbled up inside her like a poison. 'Just go away.'

He sighed. 'Rosie, I need to explain. Will you please hear me out?'

She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve as a fresh wave of angry tears slipped down her cheeks. 'What can you possibly say? Some excuse to get yourself off the hook?'

He shook his head. 'No. But since you already know part of the story, you deserve to know all of it. The whole truth.'

'I don't care about the whole truth!' She exclaimed, turning to face him finally. 'All I care about is that you cheated on mum! I don't care if it was with Uncle Sherlock's sister in disguise, I don't care that she was tricking you on purpose, and I bloody well don't care that it was only over text!'

Her father blanched, his face paling with guilt and shame, unaware of just how much she had discovered.

Her bottom lip trembled violently and she sobbed, 'You had her for years, loved her and married her. And you still…' She trailed off brokenly and turned away.

John couldn't speak. All the shame and regret from years ago washed over him in waves that threatened to drown him.

Rosie whispered, 'I don't even remember her. I didn't even get a chance to know her. But from all the stories you and Uncle Sherlock and Aunt Molly have told, she was incredible. So how could you…?'

He tilted his head back and his lips thinned as he tried to hold himself together. 'I have asked myself that a thousand times in the past thirteen years.'

She looked over at him and he met her gaze, allowing his tears to fall.

'I don't have an answer,' he admitted softly. 'All I can say is that I was a selfish, cheating bastard. And your mother,' his voice broke. 'Your mother was an incredible woman. And I live every day with the regret that I did that to her, that I took her for granted, that I wasted the little time I had with her being an utter arse.'

By the end of his admission, they were both unable to hold themselves together. In one move, John opened his arms and Rosie leaned into his chest. He brushed his hand soothingly along her arm as she cried.

When their tears had run out but their hearts were still heavy, Rosie whispered brokenly, 'I wish I had known her.'

John rested his chin on her head and closed his eyes. 'Me, too.'

oOo

When the sun began to rise, John looked down to find Rosie had dozed off. He wiped his thumb across the dried tears on her cheek and pressed a kiss to her head.

His heart still ached for Mary, for the life they could have lived, for the family that could have been.

He had wasted so much of his life buried under regrets, secrets, and pain.

But when he looked their Rosie and saw Mary's smile or flashing temper, that ache eased just a little and the future looked that much brighter for them.

For John and his Rosie.


	4. The Talk

'So… any more questions?'

Rosie pursed her lips in thought, then looked up at him excitedly. 'Are Uncle Sherlock and Aunt Molly going to have a baby now?'

John closed his eyes and shivered at the thought of a mini Sherlock running about Baker Street wearing a deerstalker and spouting deductions and wreaking havoc. Instead of answering, he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. 'I'll be up later to tuck you in.'

She pouted in disappointment, but hugged him back before he got up and left the room. With a sigh of relief, John closed the door to Rosie's bedroom behind him and leaned against it, letting his head drop back.

 _Bloody Sherlock_.

Clenching his jaw and squaring his shoulders, he put on his fiercest Army Doctor scowl and made his way downstairs.

Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot on the couch, per John's command. A throw pillow was strategically held on his lap. His naked lap.

On the far side of the couch, Molly was wrapped in Sherlock's Belstaff and as red as a rose. She was staring a hole into the button of the coat and didn't look up as John entered and sat down on the coffee table in front of them.

'I don't need to tell you that _that_ ,' John emphasized firmly and pointed up toward Rosie's room, 'was not a talk I wanted to have with my 8-year-old daughter right now. I'd rather not have had it for another ten years, but what's done is done. Now, what do you two have to say for yourselves?'

Molly flushed a deeper red and wrapped her arms around herself attempt to disappear into the large coat.

Sherlock cleared his throat and leveled his gaze on John. 'You weren't supposed to return for another 17 minutes. I did not anticipate you taking a cab, rather than the bus. If you think about it, it's really your-'

'Don't!' John interjected angrily. He narrowed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. 'My daughter and I walked in on you and your… girlfriend?' He paused and looked in question at Molly.

A smile twitched at the corner of Molly's mouth and Sherlock reached over to pull her hand free and twine their fingers together. 'Fiancée,' the detective replied proudly.

'Fiancée, okay,' John continued on in surprise, letting that new development go for the time being. 'So, we walk in on you and it's _my_ fault?! You could have locked the bloody door or hung a sock on the doorknob, for Christ's sake!'

'John, I'm so sorry,' Molly broke in, finally looking up earnestly. 'We just got carried away and… we're really _really_ sorry.'

'Not _that_ sorry,' Sherlock grumbled and shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

Molly squeezed his hand hard and glared at him.

Wincing in pain, Sherlock gritted his teeth and hissed, 'Fine. _Sorry.'_

John rubbed a hand over his face. A smile spread across his face and he began to laugh, to Molly's and Sherlock's concern. But it was all just so ridiculous!

'John, a-are you alright?' Molly ventured tentatively.

John nodded and took a deep breath. 'Yeah, I'll be fine. But I think I'll go tuck Rosie in now. We can talk more in the morning and lay down some rules for the flat, once we've all had a good night's sleep.' He looked pointedly at Sherlock. 'And that means no unnecessary noises or bumps in the night, got it?'

Sherlock opened his mouth, no doubt to impart some cheeky insult or protestation, but one look at Molly's face and he closed it again.

'Of course. Nothing unnecessary whatsoever,' he agreed all too sweetly.

Rolling his eyes, John knew this was a battle that he wasn't going to be able to win right now. So instead he stood and made his way toward the door.

'As least try to keep it down,' he said as he reached to close the door behind him. Molly and Sherlock nodded in agreement, but John did not trust that rebellious streak in Sherlock. 'If you remember, my room is right above yours.'

Sherlock smirked. 'I'm well aware, Dr Watson. And I'm looking forward to some long-deserved revenge.'

John grimaced.

'Good night, John,' Molly smiled somewhat sympathetically.

'Good night, Molly.'

'Yes, yes, you've all said your 'Good Nights', Sherlock barked impatiently and stood, with the pillow still held against his nether regions. 'Shouldn't you be tucking your daughter into bed right now?'

John quickly closed the door. The latch slid into place just as a muffled thump hit the other side, no doubt Sherlock's throw pillow, followed immediately by a deep growl and giggles.

He dropped his head into his hands.

Perhaps he had better invest in some ear plugs.


	5. First Date

**AN: A Rosie Story… with a wallop of Overprotective Parental Figures and a side of Sherlolly. :)**

'You're on my foot!'

'Move it then!'

'You move!'

'No!'

'Ow, did you seriously just elbow me out of the way?!'

'Shut up, you're too loud! They might hear you!'

' _I'm_ too loud?!'

'Yes! _Damn it_ , now they're looking over here. Get back and _shut up!'_

John held his breath and closed his eyes, his heart thundering against his ribs. If they were found… Oh, he dreaded the thought. Praying desperately for deliverance (or maybe a nice black hole to be sucked into), he pressed his back against the tree.

Beside him, and hogging the majority of the tree, Sherlock was doing the same.

After counting to 50, John peeled one eye open, then the other. 'Is it safe?' He whispered.

Sherlock quirked one eyebrow. 'We shall see.'

They both turned to cautiously peer around the tree. John frowned. 'Where did they go?'

'Right behind you.'

Both John and Sherlock jumped and whirled around.

With her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes, at this moment, Rosie Watson was the embodiment of furious. Beside her, Victor Holmes was glaring a hole into his father, his hands clenched at his sides.

'We can explain!' John exclaimed.

'We can?' Sherlock turned to him in disbelief. John elbowed him sharply and the detective grunted, suddenly catching on.

He nodded eagerly and rubbed his bruised ribs. 'I mean, we can! Absolutely! We were-'

'Shut it, dad,' Victor snapped. 'We know you were both spying on us. You trained us to be aware of our surroundings. Did you think we didn't know you were following us all day?'

'And after you _promised_ not to,' Rosie joined in, crossing her arms.

Realising there was no way out, Sherlock and John exchanged guilty looks.

'We've already called Aunt Molly.' The colour drained from Sherlock's face. 'She says to tell you there's a nice surprise waiting for you at home.'

From the way she said 'nice' and smiled wickedly, John was inordinately glad he was not Sherlock. But then, Rosie turned her glare onto him. And suddenly, he wished he were _anyone_ else.

To his growing unease, she didn't say a word. Instead, she lifted her chin, grabbed Victor's hand, and they marched away.

Well, he was in deep trouble.

Sherlock's mobile buzzed and he hesitantly pulled it out.

'It's from Mycroft,' he said, reading it quickly. He grimaced. 'Apparently, Victor also noticed the CCTV cameras watching them.'

'We're all in deep shit, aren't we?' John groaned and rubbed his face.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Oh, yes.'

John leaned back against the tree. 'They're too young to be on their own.'

'John, Rosie is 17 and Victor is not that far behind her.' Sherlock gripped his shoulder and smirked. 'It was only their first date. And from what we saw, only a little hand holding happened.'

' _Hand holding_?' John repeated, incredulous. A deadly rage welled up inside him and he seethed, 'When you have a daughter, _then_ you can lecture me all you want. But when you're the father of a hands-y, libidinous _boy_ , you don't get to have an opinion!'

Shoving away from the tree, he stomped out of the park.

'Oi, that's my _son,_ your _godson_ , you're maligning!' Sherlock barked and hurried to overtake him.

oOo

From their bench on the far side of the park, Rosie and Victor watched as their fathers bickered and disappeared back into the city.

Victor shook his head and wrapped an arm around Rosie, who was still tense and wound up. She slowly relaxed and leaned against him.

'They're never going to change, are they?'

Victor chuckled and kissed her head. 'Nope. We might as well get used to it.'

Rosie pouted.

It was bad enough that her father was an overprotective, Army Doctor, with a glare that had scared off every single boy who had dared darken their doorstep. Add in an Uncle with a fascination for murder and an evil grin that had sent one potential suitor to a therapist and an Aunt whose adorable smile hid a stomach of steel - not to mention, the all-knowing Mycroft who made the idea of privacy absolutely laughable - and Rosie had become the most undateable girl in all of London!

Only Victor had passed muster (because he had been born into this crazy family). And even then, they wouldn't stop interfering!

Victor threaded his fingers with hers and brushed his thumb soothingly over her palm. He hummed a soft melody in her ear. Slowly, her scowl faded. Here, in her best friend's arms, suddenly it all didn't seem so overwhelming. She felt safe and protected, cherished, ready to face the world outside of them.

Was it really any wonder she'd fallen for him?

Turning her head, her nose brushed his chin. His breath fell on her cheek, warm, and he stopped humming. Suddenly, the air was thick between them. Heavy with anticipation.

She could feel his heartbeat accelerate against her fingertips and he licked his lips nervously. She did the same and looked into his eyes, his beautiful green and blue eyes. She felt as though she were drowning in them. Her own eyes fell closed and she held her breath in anticipation.

But then nothing happened.

She peeked one eye open.

Victor was staring at her, wearing his 'processing' face. Rolling her eyes, she took matters into her own hands and closed the distance between them, her free hand reaching up to curl around his neck and hold him close as her lips pressed against his.

He started in surprise. Then he sunk into the kiss, his eyes falling shut and his arm tugging her against him.

It may not have been the perfect first date.

But to Rosie and Victor, it was the perfect beginning.


End file.
